To You, Ten Years Ago
by CorgisAreMySoul
Summary: On the day before his summer break in the second year of junior high, Izuku finds himself met with an opportunity unlike any other. A new program with the ability to bring back one's future self for conversation comes to Orudera. In the face of self-doubt and shattering dreams, Izuku realizes that the only way to prove that he can be a hero is to meet with himself.
1. Chapter 1: Opportunity

**Gonna be honest, I wasn't sure if I would post this. MHA is a bit of a iffy fandom for me right now, but I still love the characters enough to give you all this.**

**CW: Light bullying, general Bakugou-like behavior, and a strong sense of denial from our favorite cinnamon roll.**

**I own nothing from MHA, that all belongs to Kohei Horikoshi. Cover art is edited by me, and it is sourced from the anime itself.**

**This story will likely be a maximum of 5 chapters long, and I have most of it thought out in my head. All I need to do is take hand to keyboard at this point.**

**Enjoy, my dear readers.**

**Things to note:**

**\- Izuku will meet himself in the future. No letters or indirect communication; I mean we're getting face to face convo.**

**\- Izuku is currently 13/14 at this point, so he would meet his 23/24 y.o. self.**

**\- This story is extremely slow in pacing at times. This first chapter should provide insight as to how slow some scenes may get.**

* * *

Izuku is giddy, bouncing in his seat. Sure, a few strange looks his way had crushed his mood somewhat, but he is euphoric nonetheless. Today is the day.

His first term as a second year is coming to a close, fresh after his thirteenth birthday, and he is on the cusp of summer vacation. That meant more time to gawk at superheroes, more time to watch All Might in action, and time for– if he'd been staring at his calendar correctly– about a few _month's_ worths of researching his favorite heroes.

So, without any restraint, Izuku remains twisting in his seat, positively buzzing with words that flew out of his lips faster than they could be comprehended. Sure, he'd been told to shut up a total of _three_ times by Kacchan, but he really couldn't help himself. His peers' protests were as effective as tossing pebbles into the ocean in order to stop waves.

Simply said, he isn't stopping any time soon.

By the end of class, the clock on the wall is a beacon of hope. Izuku finds himself staring at it in some sort of unholy awe as if it were the realization of all his dreams. He's essentially vibrating in his seat, his hands cement onto the desk as if it were an anchor, and he's just ready to _go_. He would just leave this place, Sensei and his peers shoved into the back of his mind for a whole two months, so that he could finally go home and _research _his favorite heroes and…

–and that sounds kind of sad, now that he thinks about it.

He wilts like a flower for perhaps a millisecond before the thought catapults itself out of his mind. _No room for negativity_, he tells himself. A smile forces its way onto his dimpled face, and he looks more frantically at the clock on the wall. His fingers tap incessantly, nearing desperately, on the desk in front of him.

The back of his shoe bangs against the yellow backpack sitting at the side of his desk, incessantly rumpling it a bit before striking against the metal leg of the chair. His smile grows, and his teeth start protesting with a sound akin to nails on a chalk-board

Suddenly, a piece of paper makes contact with his cheeks, and Izuku's head swivels to the right. He is met with a seething Kacchan, and he immediately wonders where he went wrong. His smile falls off his face, and he is left looking clueless at the ball of anger next to him.

Kacchan flips him the bird – Izuku shrugs at that – and he then mouths the words, "SHUT THE FUCK UP," while wildly exaggerating his fury with splayed out arms and an admittedly comical facial expression to match. The corner of Izuku's lips twist upward awkwardly, and his eyes dart to the side as he nods complacently.

Make that four times; he's been told a total of _four_ times to shut up.

He shifts in his seat again to face the still-lecturing Sensei, and his chin rests on the tip of his palm with a sort of tentativeness to it. He breathes out silently through his nose and begins to let his eyes wander around the classroom, then to the window.

Sensei stops before he can get to huff again.

"Alright, class," the man interrupts, brown eyes slanting to the side as he drawls out the last syllable. He pauses, sunken eyes darting around as he looks for attentive faces. He finds some in the crowd, and he smirks fiendishly, "Since we're heading towards the last ten minutes of the term, I thought it'd be as good a time as any to stop babbling on about the summer assignment. The teacher's committee of Orudera Junior High finally managed to raise enough money for this years' students to get a special surprise. That is… if any of you are interested."

Sensei's eyes scan the room again, and a devilish grin sprouts on his face as he notes the many sets of eyes trained on him. Izuku straightens like a ruler, equally intrigued by the surprise.

"Ah, yes," Sensei chuckles a bit, voice as slick as oil, "There's the attention I've been waiting for."

The man walks to his desk and opens a drawer, taking out a stack of pamphlets that he starts handing out to each row. Izuku takes a pamphlet from the student in front of him and starts scanning the paper.

The cover reads: "The Meet Your Future Program™"

Izuku's eyebrows rise a bit, and he wonders about the implications that such a name holds. Can he quite literally meet his future self? Are there even Quirks out there that can do such a thing? He nearly opens the pamphlet himself before the teacher interrupts his train of thought.

"Settle down, folks," Sensei barks out to catch their attention. It works well enough, Izuku supposes, but his eyes dart down towards the pamphlet, glaring daggers into the five words that pop out in bold letters. "We nagged and nagged and _nagged_ the treasurer to give us a grant for this program. Chances are that you've probably heard of it. The big shot schools, from Somei Academy to Shiketsu High, hire people from this company to read their students' futures."

A murmur breaks out in one side of the room and soon, the entire class is buzzing with excitement. Sensei hushes them with one well-timed stomp to the ground.

"Now, if you _haven't _heard of the program, let me give you a run-down–"

Sensei clears his throat and opens the pamphlet, and Izuku scrambles to open the little booklet too.

"Essentially, a company representative will be sent to the school in order to give you a thirty-minute session with, as you can guess, a rendition of your future self. You'll get a chance to meet yourself, just ten years from now. This session entails the use of a Quirk– blah, blah, blah, legal obligations– so you must have a parent or guardian sign the permission slip on the back of the pamphlet. Failure to have it signed will lead to disqualification."

Sensei's eyes scan the classroom, and his smirk only grows further.

"Oh, but there's one catch, kids," he waggles a finger incessantly, "You're gonna have to come in during summer break to meet the company rep. It'd be an absolute shame for all of you to trudge over here, to this _lame school_, during summer break! It might just be for the best if… well… only some of you apply to the program.

The class breaks out into groans, and Izuku finds himself wondering if Sensei really just hates kids or didn't scrounge up _enough of a budget_ to let everyone participate.

Sensei slides the pamphlet back onto the desk with an ambiguous wink, and Izuku tentatively lets the paper fall onto his desk as well. He shifts slightly, and his leg starts jackhammering against the floor as his mind races with thought.

His eyes bore into the pamphlet, mind drifting into another plane as Sensei addresses the class for what seems like the last time.

He absentmindedly gathers his things into his bag, stuffing them with renewed vigor as his body races to leave the class in the shortest amount of time possible.

With a curt bow to Sensei on his way out, Izuku suddenly pauses in his gait, standing at the orifice between the classroom and freedom.

A snap decision is made, and he turns around to confront Sensei. Izuku's ankles wobble as he makes his way to the front of the class, very much aware of the various students sending him odd looks as they filter out of the class.

_They can't stop you_, he reminds himself, _They can't put you down_.

"Midoriya, do you have a question?" Sensei asks while simultaneously packing his own things away. It seems like the man didn't want to be there either, Izuku reasons. To be fair, nobody did.

"Ah, yes, a-actually," Izuku's mind draws a blank, as it _always does_, and he stutters his way through it, "I-I just wanted to kn-ow if… you know… the–"

"PROJECT, BOY!" Sensei bursts, mouth completely straight. The man is completely unstartled after the outburst, and Izuku gets the urge to cry.

"Y-yes sir!" he all but shouts, eyes pricking with salty tears. "I-I want to know when to hand in my permission slip!"

"Oh," Sensei turns to him fully in surprise, stopping his hand mid-air which had been lifting his briefcase to his side. The man turns pensive, his free hand darting to his face, "You know, I didn't think _you _would take this offer, Midoriya."

The man slings the briefcase's strap over his shoulder as he gingerly shakes his suit jacket straight.

"No offense, but I don't think you have anything to glean from it," Sensei pushes in a chair squeakily, now aware that the room had emptied out completely. "You're a straight-mannered kid, and I don't think you have any doubts about where you _want _to be."

"S-Sensei, with all due respect–" Izuku stammers.

"Ah– don't stop me yet," Sensei claps his hands free of chalkboard dust and grabs his thermos from his desk, now completely ready to leave. "What I _don't_ think is that you know where your life is _going_. I'll be honest; I have had some hope throughout the year that you'd give up this foolish dream of becoming a hero–"

"Sir, please," Izuku is now pleading, much to his own chagrin. His tears now stream down his face in a neverending river, and he grows more desperate with each hiccup that escapes his lips.

Sensei backs up, eyes wide and hands placating whilst in the air. His tone shifts to something softer, and he lets out a deep breath.

"I–I'm not going to stop you, Midoriya. You can do what you want, but just keep it real."

Sensei starts hurrying towards the door, speedily checking his wristwatch and hassling the door with his free hand. Before he can leave, he pauses again.

"Oh, and Midoriya," Sensei turns slightly from the door frame, lips in a thin line.

"The permission slip's due on Monday, two days from now. You can hand it to me in the teacher's office, but just think it over first."

Izuku is left alone in the classroom, with only he, himself, and his very own venomous thoughts.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed! Please review, these are like fuel to me. I accept criticism wholeheartedly, as long as it is clear and reasonable (e.g. I won't accept criticism that there isn't a particular character in this story, or something of the like)**

**I'll try to be back with something next week for you guys, and I hope to wrap up this story efficiently compared to my other stories.**


	2. Chapter 2: A Woman

**No warnings have changed. I don't own MHA, Kohei Horikoshi does.**

**Also, if it wasn't already obvious that this story is very slow-paced, this is the chapter that really tests your (and _my_) patience.**

**Enjoy.**

**Updated A/N: I appreciate the enthusiasm, but please refrain from making death threats (intentional or unintentional) in the review section. Even if it is meant in a lighthearted way, it still comes off as disturbing. This kind of dark humor is not my cup of tea and I ask that you kindly refrain from saying these things.**

* * *

Midoriya Inko is not stupid.

There are a lot of things she picks up on, things that she just figures out, even when she doesn't mean to.

The moment she met her husband, she had picked up on the fact that this relationship wouldn't work out. Despite this, despite all logic that should have turned her the other way, she still gave him her heart.

It was only five years later when her suspicions had come to fruition on her son's third birthday; Midoriya Hisashi stepped out the door and embarked on his never-ending business trip, and her bleak expectations had been met.

Inko is no fool; she knows her husband wasn't satisfied with settling down; he had felt useless and more akin to a burden than a spouse. While she still receives the monthly envelope with a check and curt letter, she knows that the marriage on paper is no longer alive.

Despite this, she _also_ knows that her husband loves Izuku dearly, even if he has never come home to demonstrate it. Hisashi is aloof and selfless–

–just like Izuku is.

Inko isn't senseless. She knows that Izuku is just like his father in that manner; stubborn as a mule, stuck in his own head, and _selfless_. The only difference between the two was with how they reigned their selflessness in.

Hisashi ran away to make more money, to feel useful while ignoring the emotional needs of his family.

The check that comes home once a month, more than Inko would have gotten if it had been _child support_, is enough to keep Hisashi away and working.

Izuku runs away too, sometimes, but there's _one_ difference between the two boys she had fallen in love with.

Izuku _always_ comes back. Hisashi isn't going to.

Inko has made amends with that fact, but she isn't willing to let Izuku make the same mistake.

When she finds herself waiting by the dining table, various platters of food astray in anticipation of their Friday night dinner, she knows something is askew with her son.

He doesn't come this late.

A frown pastes itself on her face, and her stout figure, built by guilt and stress, relaxes into the back of the chair as she waits for the door to open and for the entrance to be filled with the soft jingle of keys.

Her fingers tap silently on the table, eyes drifting from her empty plate to the pictures on the wall. Her eyes glide over each one, mind slowly reminiscing over each individual memory.

_A lot has changed since those days_, she realizes. Her thin, towering figure that remained frozen in various photographs was no more. Another thought nibbled at her brain, but she pushed it aside in favor of self-loathing.

With a heavy sigh, she leans onto the table with one hand tucked delicately under her head. Her cheek bundles up against her hand, and she wonders when she had started to lose herself. A tentative poke to the gullet provides enough proof to her that, with great humility, she was getting _a bit pudgy_.

The clock on the wall ticks a bit faster as she delves further into the chasm of pessimistic thoughts in her head.

Her mind drifts from her figure back to her marriage, an even more sour topic, and finally to her parenting skills. Somehow, it all ties back to the main issue at hand:

_Izuku isn't home yet_.

It's now an hour and a half past the time he usually comes home, and Inko is slipping into disaster-mode as the seconds continue to pass. Izuku isn't irresponsible, he isn't the type of person to just get into fights or to get caught up in some sort of crime–

Inko isn't worried that her son won't come home… she's more afraid that he'll come home in shambles.

Izuku is just too… nervous in her eyes, too finicky. She's raised him from diapers to, well, not exactly dating, but she's sure he'll meet someone in the future. Regardless, she knows Izuku isn't capable of managing himself yet.

She isn't even quite sure that she can manage _him_ yet. He's always been a handful on an emotional level; Izuku cried, laughed, and _felt_ more than any other child she had ever seen, and seeing all of it, all of his spirit, disappear over the years has drained _her_.

Watching him lie to her face, about the bullying and– and the teachers…

There are moments when she loathes him for being this way.

For being _selfless_.

Suddenly, she jolts as the front door clicks open and soundlessly glides through the air until it thuds against the wall and shudders with a resigned groan.

_He's home_. The thought fills her with unadulterated relief, but the question of _why_ still bites at her brain.

Izuku's footsteps are loud and sloppy; his shoes slosh against the hardwood floor and the rain outside, which Inko had frankly failed to notice previously, hammers against the patio by the entrance to their apartment.

A noxious cocktail of anxieties and fears mingles in her head as she waits for him to address her. Somehow, she finds herself just as wary to ask her question as she thinks he is to answer it. Shakily, she shifts her chair back with her body and stands up from the dinner table, tentatively approaching the entryway.

Her footsteps are delicate but tactile. Her fingers weave into each other as she wracks herself with guilt.

When she turns the corner, she it strikes her that she didn't quite know what to expect beforehand.

But her standards grow irreparably lower as she finally registers her son in full view:

Izuku's hair is matted against his head, soaked from tip to scalp in a rare display of straightness. Soft, small, and green curls peak from the slick sheet of hair, but he looks more akin to a wet dog than a boy.

The same goes for his clothing, Inko notes. His school uniform is drenched to the point where she worries that he may catch hypothermia if he doesn't hurry to fling the outfit off. His bag, normally a rich yellow, is dulled down by the water that pervades its fabric.

The last thing she discerns is the tears, almost indiscriminate from the droplets of rain that rest on Izuku's skin. The tear tracks are almost impossible to miss, though; Izuku had always been a messy cryer, and his eyes had always been able to tell the story behind his melancholy.

What scares Inko, at this moment, is that she cannot see anything in his eyes. While his face is puffy and red from sobbing, his eyes are eerily empty and that _terrifies_ her.

She slowly steps backward from the scene in front of her, turning to get a towel to dry Izuku off. Without a word, she returns and wraps the towel around him as he meekly watches her behind the hood the towel had created on his head. He doesn't say a word.

Neither of them does. There's nothing to be said, Inko believes.

She feels as though if she were to delve into the awkward chasm between her son and her, she wouldn't know how to handle him. Somehow, it all comes back to this: whether or not she can handle him.

When push comes to shove, Inko isn't willing to break the fragile silence.

Maybe she is a coward; who knows. At this moment, there's nothing Inko can think of that could help Izuku, so she does the best she can with her actions alone.

It's the best she _can do_.

Once she finishes drying off Izuku, she hands him a bowl of katsudon, now cold from waiting on the table for so long, and lets him drift away towards his room without any further instruction.

Inko knows he will cry it out; he always does.

The thing that Inko doesn't know about is whether or not she can muster enough courage to break her self-inflicted barriers and help him through this.

It's just one of the many things Inko isn't. Something she doesn't think she can ever be.

_Selfless._

Mentally drained, she returns to the dinner table and slumps over on one of the chairs. She fills her plate and starts stuffing her face absently, stewing in a concoction of malicious thoughts.

She can't figure out her son, so she is a dreadful mother. The thought strikes her as reasonable and appropriate, and she feels as though she deserves such a title.

There are things she _just knows_, things she knows about Izuku even if he tries to hide. But she doesn't really know _Izuku_.

She only knows a reflection of him; a façade. She mulls over this, repeatedly bashing her own inability, her own _weakness_ in parenting.

After the last bite, she tidies the table with a renewed vigor and an emotion that could only be classified as aggression. She understands that it isn't targeted towards anything but herself, but she has learned by now to utilize that energy productively.

By the time she reaches the entryway, she notices the discarded bookbag that is still doused in water to the point where a small pool had formed around it.

She wrinkles her nose as she bends down to lift the bag, and she staggers back as the weight finally settles in her arms. She leans back as she hoists the heavy backpack into the kitchen.

As soon as she drops the object in her hands onto the nearest chair, she emits a deep, shuddering breath. Despite her body's lassitude, she pushes herself further and empties the bag of its contents so that she can let the backpack air out properly.

She tries not to peek at her son's possessions, especially the latest hero notebook. One look at that and she knew she would burst into tears.

Luckily, something else catches her eye, shoved into the bottom of the bookbag with a crumpled texture to it. She reclaims the piece of paper from the bag, and she unwraps it to find a pamphlet.

When she reads the title, emboldened in large, unmistakable letters, her breath freezes.

* * *

**My mind, at 12 AM: should i leave it on a cliffhanger? **

**inner me: yes.**

**please review, it gives me motivation and something to improve on. next chapter should be out next week, folks. **


	3. Chapter 3: Me, Myself, and I

**Ok, everyone, you know the drill.**

**CW: Kinda angsty, but not enough to make you the big sad. Emotional breakdowns, finally some emotional reprieve for our cinnamon roll, and a hefty ton of mama midoriya and son bonding.**

**MHA belongs to Kohei Horikoshi. This is currently on track for five chapters, and I believe there may be an epilogue if I can brainstorm one by the end of the last "meaty" chapter.**

**Chapter 4 will be a day late due to some tests that came up. I'm half-way done with the chapter, but I won't be able to crunch it in time. **

**While I have my outlines to lean on, I think it should be done Friday, April 5.**

* * *

When Izuku wakes up, his face is crusted with tears. He feels grimy overall, and his nose wrinkles at the distasteful flavor of his mouth.

Though, none of this compares to the unsavory emotions still swirling in his head.

He continues laying down on his bed, face down into the pillow as his brain slowly shuffles over the events of yesterday.

The program… Sensei… his _mother_. Everything is a wreck.

He sighs, palming his face against the sheets. Unfortunately, it's _his_ wreck. His lovely little wreck that he must now face head-on.

He clenches the sheets with a grunt and turns over on his back so that he can inhale non-pillow air. He kicks his All Might blanket off of his body and leans over to check the time on his phone. He finds that it's nearly noon and he groans again as he curls into a sitting position.

With a yawn, his feet make contact with the ground and his upper body shivers at the cold hardwood floor. His footsteps are loud, and he can't find the energy in himself to bother being courteous to the neighbors. His mother would usually rag on him for not thinking about how they would feel, but…

He just needs a coffee before he can think about… _all that_.

He shuffles towards the kitchen with another yawn, somewhat more aware of his surroundings. He does stub his toe on the doorframe to his room, though, but the pain isn't enough to make him verbal. He sucks it up and continues his journey to obtain the bitter, rejuvenating liquid.

When he enters the kitchen, he slides towards the countertop and gets straight to pushing buttons on the coffee machine, but it turns out that it is empty. While turning around to grab a fresh bag of beans from the cupboard, Izuku's eyes caught upon a conspicuous scrap of paper on the dining room table: the brochure.

Even more noticeable, however, is his mother, perched on the couch and currently absorbed in a book. She peers up from her book momentarily, but she lets his staring slide as she registers the bag of coffee beans in his hand.

Izuku sighs out of his nose and turns back to the coffee machine, and he gets started on a cup o' joe. He blearily rubs his eyes as the bubbling of the machine and the occasional page turn fill the room with noise. His face sweats as he peers into the pot of coffee, heat rising onto his face.

He pours himself a cup, hesitating momentarily on whether or not he should do the same for his mother, but ultimately decides not to as he catches sight of her own dirty mug in the sink. He grimaces as his eyes latch onto the brochure again.

His mother has seen it. That has to be it; there's no other explanation as to _why_ it would be on the counter. His hopes for secrecy only plummets from this point.

He was always careful to hide his unconfidence, his _weakness_, in the past with his mother, but the brochure, the embodiment of his lack of faith in his future, has practically given away the whole farm.

He just wants to disappear at this point, melt into the ground, but his jelly-legs are worth at least something because he is still standing. Somehow.

His hand reaches for the brochure, tentative, and he opens it up on the counter, really looking at it for the first time since yesterday. Though, there's one thing different about it this time–

There's a signature on the bottom, at the permission slip portion of the pamphlet.

He blinks.

Both hands placed on the counter for some semblance of stability, Izuku's head flicks towards his mother and back to the brochure. He blinks again.

At this point, she's noticed him and has started to get up from the couch, but he meets her before she can even get a step in.

His arms are hugged tight around her before he even registers it, and his face is buried into her shoulder as he shakes with an unexpected sob. The blend of morning grogginess, his depressed mood that had slipped into the next day, and the overwhelming rush of vindication finds itself being too strong a union for his eye sockets to contain.

Despite this, he still squeezes with all his might and his mother returns the embrace with equal gusto. He shudders out another sob as he shakes with an odd fusion of glee and melancholy.

He feels like a child again, clutching his mother's shirt, but he can't really find it in himself to care at the moment.

It is a moment of pure, raw emotion, something he hasn't had the chance to express in years.

With a resigned sniffle, he wrenches himself from his mother and forces himself to face her head-on. She meets his gaze with a soft, tender expression.

His eyes twinkle, unbeknownst to him. He isn't used to having his emotions respected like this.

Even from his mother, the expression seems foreign. He has embroiled himself for so long in a crowd of critics to the point where he only expects rejection and mockery. The revelation astonishes him, but he finds himself being even more excited by the notion of being listened to.

It's… refreshing.

He realizes, with a pang of guilt, that maybe he should talk to his mother more often.

Not as a resource or an outlet, but as a _person_.

"M-Mom…" he chokes out, still gasping on his own tears. He sniffles loudly and wipes away the disgusting concoction of snot, sweat, and tears on his face, mumbling, "I-I can't stand it– I can't deal with _this_ all the time… I just–"

She stops him, eyes sympathetic and seemingly ready to burst into tears as well, and shushes him lightly.

"Izuku, my baby," she starts, voice wavy, as if she can't accept that he's right here, right now. "You don't– you _shouldn't_ listen to what _anyone_ says, even me."

He wordlessly pauses, expecting her to continue. She persists on, stumbling.

"I–I _know_ I haven't been the best mother, and I _know_ it's hard to–to deal with these people that just can't understand you. I _know_, sweetheart."

She emits a noise close to a gasp or a hiccup, but she presses on with momentum, all fired up.

"But Izuku, I want you to choose for yourself," she looks off to the side, and continues to speak with zeal, "I don't want to make your decisions, I shouldn't. I'm not fit for that, and I should have told you this so, _so_ long ago, but I was afraid what would happen, Izuku. I–I can't watch it go on any longer… I can't, baby."

His heart shatters as her head turns to face him, tears streaming down her fast faster than he can speak. Her lip trembles and she staggers onward.

"And Izuku… if you need someone to give you advice– if you need _anyone _to give you advice, then it should be yourself." His mother hiccups again and she wipes her face violently with her sleeve, "I won't ask questions, I–I won't ask how much you've kept from me, a–and I won't ask why you want to do this. I won't. But… just be honest with yourself. If you want to do this, then just take the chance!"

Finally, the adrenaline crashes down and his mother devolves into full-on tears. He's stunned, confused, but he's also relieved.

Oh _God_ is he relieved.

The weight of holding secrets crashes down on him like a bag of rocks, and he feels like he was just sucker punched in the gut. He lets his arms snake around his shaking mother as the infectious sentiment of hope drifts from her to him.

Soon, they are both a pile of tears on the floor, but Izuku can't care less at the moment.

* * *

It's Monday and his gait is fresh and his mind revitalized.

He marches towards the Junior High School at an excited pace, as if his legs can't keep up with his racing mind. Truth be told, that _is_ the case.

His, erm, _discussion_ with his mother over the weekend had brought on a ton of insight. She is right in a way–

There really is nothing to lose if he was to take the chance.

So he is doing what she tells him. For the first and last time, it seems.

As he enters the building and climbs the stairs, he contemplates the newfound sense of confidence bubbling within him. It's so foreign, and it's so _raw_.

He's never felt this certain before. Not for as long as he could remember.

It's _unexpected_.

And apparently, something Sensei doesn't expect either. The moment Izuku walks into the room, Sensei looks up at him from a pile of final projects and glares a bit from behind his desk.

It's not malicious nor is it heated, it's just plain surprise painted on his profile. The man's face is scrunched up in a kind of squint, and he softly plops a stack of papers to the desk to get up and face Izuku.

Izuku waits by the door, and Sensei meets him with a hurried pace. The man seems more than happy to have a distraction, but somehow even more frustrated that he's being interrupted from his work. It seems like a vicious cycle to Izuku, but he doesn't let his aim get clouded by such trivial thoughts.

Instead, he holds out his hand, brochure tucked between two fingers, and says to Sensei:

"I _want_ to do this program, Sensei."

It seems bold, for him. Izuku doesn't stutter, he doesn't break eye contact, and he doesn't shift his body. Everything about him comes off as determined, and Sensei's eyes flit from the brochure to Izuku's face.

Finally, the man snatches it away, without hostility but with haste, and waves Izuku off with a free hand.

Only three words:

"Thank you, Midoriya."

Izuku walks out knowing that Sensei wouldn't say more. Nothing need be said.

When it is all said and done, there is nothing to be gained between the oppressed and the oppressor.

* * *

**Coming next chapter to a fanfiction website near you: Bakugou comes and fucking ruins everything. **

**Haha, get ready to suffer with me, everyone. Pls review, I want your criticisms so I can improve these. Just try to be courteous, and no death threats or anything of the kind.**


	4. Chapter 4: Sticks and Stones

**Alright, everyone, I stick to my promises. **

**CW: Izuku says the f-word, Kacchan's personality is amplified by over 9000, bby Izuku fights back like a strong, independent quirkless adolescent.**

**BNHA belongs to Kohei Horikoshi. I just own the plot of this _thing_.**

**Just a heads up for the next week, I won't be able to update on my normal Thursday schedule because of musical instrument stuff. The update will be delayed by a week. Note that the next update should be the final chapter, and I might include an epilogue if there's enough demand.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Good things never last.

That is the thought that struck Izuku the moment he touched the ground, skin scraping against the floor in a horrid display of incapability. His eyes peer up, and he only manages a meek sneer towards his assaulter.

Of course, Kacchan has to ruin everything, _anything_.

Izuku cannot and will not get his moment in heaven with _Kacchan_ around. His life is a broken record in that way.

At first, Izuku hadn't noticed the blonde boy on his way out of the school, his sense of self was inflated with _some_ confidence. It was only when the anger-prone teen approached him that Izuku finally registered the danger he was in.

And now it bites him in the ass, it seems.

He turns onto his hands, knees uncomfortably supporting his weight on the concrete, and gasps to suck air back in. The fall makes him land square on his back, and it knocks the wind out of him.

In fact, it startles him so much that he isn't even listening to Kacchan at the moment.

He tunes back in when his wrists stop wobbling, and he only hears rage.

"–huh!? You hear that, shitty Deku? I'm gonna fucking wreck your little ass," Kacchan spits, back arched towards the ground as his face glares daggers into Izuku's forehead.

"Huh?" Izuku blurts, immediately regretting his decision to speak without a mental filter. He tries to recover now, "W-Wait, I didn't mean–"

"Oh, that's what you mean?! You didn't listen to a SINGLE FUCKING THING I just told you? Your ears must be as useless as your shit-brain." Kacchan's words cut into Izuku like a knife; Izuku flinches, and he can't find the words to say at the moment. It seems like nothing will fix the mess he's made now.

The waning spirit of confidence that had arisen within him the day before isn't giving up, though. He grits his teeth and returns Kacchan's tone with full force:

"So what if I'm useless," Izuku hisses, hands clenching at the ground and eyes tearing up, "I don't care about your stupid opinion, Kacchan. You hear me? _I don't care_."

When Izuku turns his head up to glare at Kacchan, he finds himself perplexed.

Kacchan isn't angry.

Kacchan is _disturbed_.

The blonde's face is distorted in a sort of gasp, but his eyebrows are scrunched in thought. His nose is wrinkled and his blood-red pupils are ever-so-small. When Izuku's eyes dart down, he sees Kacchan's palm shaking minutely.

Kacchan rubs his thumb against his palm, and Izuku knows he's in for a nasty treat.

"What the _fuck_ did you just say to me, Deku?" Kacchan starts off in a low growl, and his words get more heated as he continues, "You wanna fucking fight? Don't give me that '_I don't care'_ bullshit; you're a weak-ass little parasite who can't do _anything _on its own. Just admit it: you wouldn't get _anywhere_ in life without this school!"

Izuku tries to intervene now, to tell Kacchan to leave it be, but the boy is already far beyond Izuku's control. And even if Izuku wants to refute Kacchan's points, he has no opportunity to do so.

"–And now, you little fucking _thing_, you're trying to leech off of me, huh!? Isn't that why you wanna be a hero, to go to UA? Is this little program-thing just a way so you can justify your shitty dream of being a hero and put yourself on _my level_? Get real, fuck-head, it's not happening."

Much to Izuku's chagrin, he feels hot tears running down his face. He wants to chastise his body for showing such _weakness_ at such a moment, but he throws himself back into the fray.

"Y-You're selfish, Kacchan," Izuku all but sobs. He sniffles and pushes himself off the ground with a burst of momentum, nearly stumbling onto his rump. He clenches his hands tight, blood oozing from the fresh scrape of concrete against fragile skin, "You think this is all about you!? What about _me?_ What about all the things _I_ want to do? Does the world revolve around you now, does it!? I _don't care_ what you think about my dreams, Kacchan. I'll do what _I_ want to do, and _you_ can't stop me."

He can stop there; Izuku can stop _right there_, turn around, and never have to deal with Kacchan again. The thought to leave Kacchan in the dust is so tantalizingly easy and satisfactory that Izuku is convinced to do so.

His body is already in a turn before he hears Kacchan speak more venom from his mouth.

"You're gonna walk away now, Deku? Now, what kind of hero would that be?" Kacchan has found his momentum now, and he rolls with it to hurl more daggers into Izuku's soul. "You're just a fucking _coward_, that's what you are. Now that I think about it–"

Kacchan pauses, raising a hand up to his chin in mock-thought with a devious smirk pasted on his face. He squints smugly at Izuku, and Izuku somehow gets a feel for what will happen next.

He still finds himself unprepared for the words that come next.

"–your father was a coward too, huh? Ran away from home and never came back! I bet you're gonna turn out to be a weak little shit like him," Kacchan starts fake-crying, and he mockingly sticks up his fists to rub his eyes, "Oh, and _poor_ Midoriya Inko. She's left all _alone_ because her useless little bitch of a _son_ can't even do anything. The fucking punchline is that she's stuck caring for you for the rest of her goddamn life until she finally–"

"_Just stop_." Izuku gasps out, teeth grit in an unholy flame of anger that had combusted within. His body can barely contain the amount of rage he possesses at the moment, as it is shaking violently. "You can say that about _me,_ Kacchan. You can say anything you want about _me_, but don't fucking talk about my parents like that. _You don't know anything about them_."

The rest of his words come out in a low hiss, strangely calm in contrast with the vibration of his body. At this point, even Kacchan has noticed the tremors.

Something within the other boy, smirk now wiped off of his face, shifts, and he instead grimaces.

"You're no fun when you talk back," Kacchan says casually, all frustration gone from his voice. It is eerily passive for him, and Izuku just stares at the other boy. "Hmph, maybe you're not a pushover anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that you're useless."

Kacchan starts walking briskly, shoulder-checking Izuku on his way out of the grandiose school gate. He doesn't turn around, and he doesn't make any more comments.

Kacchan just keeps walking.

Izuku wonders if he should have done that too.

* * *

The next few days pass by with little time unwasted for Izuku.

He decides not to tell his mother about the mishap with Kacchan, thinking that it would cause her more than enough stress to cause a heart attack. The last thing he needs is to prove Kacchan right…

Still, part of him considers telling her, just to be more honest.

Yet, he decides not to. Not for now, at least.

Just one more week, he reasons. He just needs to wait.

And he does; Izuku waits. He waits for the week-long window between the day he handed the slip in and the day of the program's start to close, and it feels like an eon.

After all, there's not much to be done when your future will be _revealed to you_ in the following week.

It feels unreal to him, evanescent; such an elation feels like it can vanish at any moment without a trace. It frightens Izuku, but it kind of excites him too.

His thoughts are muddled throughout that week, too.

There's a lot of things he considers, but mostly _himself_.

What is he like, ten years from now? A hero? Maybe his passions led elsewhere. Maybe he joined a hero agency in the future as an analyst? That had always been his backup career, just in case his dreams were–

Well, crushed. Pulverized. Absolutely annihilated. But they aren't yet! There is still a chance, he reasons.

He banishes that thought from his head faster than the others.

Still, there are pervasive thoughts about his other self. Is he married? Does he have _children_!?

The burning curiosity, the analytic side of him, begs for more information when he has none to provide. He comes up with so many questions that he has to cut the list in half so that he can get through the thirty-minute session with the more important points.

He doesn't just want to know something about the future, he wants to know _everything_.

This kind of spirit even infects his mother at some point throughout the week, to the point where she would pop into his room and occasionally suggest a question to ask or a topic of his life that he hasn't considered yet.

Once again, he rebuilt that confident sentiment he had gained the Saturday before. In hindsight, Kacchan is nothing but a small obstacle.

He can stop Izuku physically, yes, but there's nothing he _can do_ to stop Izuku from pursuing what he craves.

At the end of the day, Kacchan walked away.

Izuku decides that he too can walk away unscathed.

So when the next Monday finally strikes, Izuku is _ready_.

When he opens the front door and is blasted with the summer heat, he faces it full on, his sheet of bulleted questions in hand, and leaps through it with open arms.

* * *

**Please let me know if my mind garbage is good, yeah? I love reviews.**

**Also, let me know if you guys want the epilogue. I'm happy to write it, and I have a fairly good idea for it in my head.**


	5. Chapter 5: Just a Little Time

**Hi, I wish I had a consistent update schedule but I really don't**.

**CW: Kacchan is a stupid butt-head, some mild cursing, and self-deprecating thoughts.**

* * *

Izuku arrives at Orudera Junior High with a beaming smile, a determined gait, and an impossibly long list of questions in his hands. His hands are, of course, clammy and uncomfortably sweaty, so much so that the paper is more glued to his hand than grasped by it.

Despite the bundle of nerves sitting at the bottom of his stomach, Izuku is somewhat in a daze. His long walk to the school felt shorter than usual and, in his giddy reverie, he had failed to notice a few incredulous classmates who had spotted him in the streets, looking at him in the same manner cats peer at mice.

Those gazes always feel predatory, ready to snap at every misstep the young man makes, but today–

Everything feels _different_.

The eyes seem less judgmental this time, and he isn't quite sure why. Is it the way he walks? The determination set in on his face? The list of questions stuck to his fingers? Perhaps all of these things, and many more.

Whatever it may be, he decides, the world feels a little less like a Quirkless boy's nightmare.

Possibly, if he dares say, it seems amiable. It _agrees_ with him. It is as if something has locked into place, eliminating whatever friction that had previously existed.

This little thought, a source of contentment, sits with him as he approaches the assigned room for the program, each step heightening both his excitement and his anxiety. The paper in his hand doesn't feel like enough space to get his thoughts out, but he feels somewhat reassured by the pure bravado that continues to run through him.

The booming voice of Kacchan down the hall startles him; of course, Izuku had some premonition that his former friend would be here even earlier than him—

(because, deep down, Izuku knows that Kacchan wants the _same_ things as him; Izuku could never have been friends with him if that weren't the case)

—but never in his wildest dreams did Izuku think of how to explain his presence, so innocent, to the other boy. He gulps, savoring in the trifling amount of time he has between now and such a confrontation.

His feet shuffle forward in defiance of this new primal fear that took hold of him, and he finds himself standing in front of the classroom. He meekly peers into the classroom through the glass panel in the door, and, as expected, Kacchan is in there, screaming at the few other students for god knows what.

Izuku gulps and takes a look at his trembling hands, the paper still pasted to his permanently sweaty hands. _Ew_. He balls his free hand into a fist and lets a deep breath out, trying to muster up the same confidence that had taken hold of him during his first confrontation with the bully.

Invigorated, Izuku opens the door and takes a single step into the room.

Instantly, Kacchan's head zeroes in on his figure and the blonde's crimson eyes narrow at Izuku on sight.

_Too bold, too bold!_

In a blink of an eye, Kacchan strides towards Izuku and glowers at him, jabbing a finger into his chest with the same vigor Izuku had witnessed merely days before.

"You don't know when to take a hint, do you?" Kacchan asks, emphasizing each word with a firmer poke in the chest. Red orbs pointed at Izuku in fury, Kacchan looks like the epitome of a villain at this very moment.

Yet, despite the primal fear coursing through his veins, Izuku feels the same courage from before taking hold of him yet again.

"I'm not here for you, Kacchan," Izuku breathes out, teeth grit and eyes bolted shut in spite of Kacchan's intimidation tactics. "I'm not getting in your way, so don't get in _mine._"

Admittedly, the last part had come out harsher than Izuku had intended, but the words seem to sink in quite well once Izuku musters the guts to open his eyes.

Kacchan is astounded, once again. Even the other students in the room, who had previously been idly chatting, stop to look at Izuku in astonishment. As an awkward smile breaks onto Izuku's face, somewhat self-conscious given the new audience, he slithers away from Kacchan's paralyzed form and into the corner of the classroom, opting to take a desk that is well graffitied and to hide from the world in his "スレツシェルツ" sweatshirt.

His cheeks, red with embarrassment, press further into the desk as he hears a wave of soft giggling pass over the room. Ultimately, his actions seem to be quickly forgotten as the indiscernible chatter returns in full force.

Eyes open after the attention has shifted away, Izuku notices Kacchan still glaring at him, but his ruminations are interrupted by a sharp yell from the classroom door.

"Oi!" a stern voice cuts through the chatter like a knife through butter, and the authority of the sound is nearly _visible_ in the soundless classroom.

An older, bald man steps into the room with a clipboard in hand. As the man's stern eyes scan the classroom, Izuku desperately tries to avoid eye contact with Kacchan. A fight with his anger-prone friend would be devastating at this moment, especially given the proctor's newfound seriousness.

"Attendance," the bald man states, somehow jamming all the force of a bullet train into the word. As if by clockwork, Izuku and the other students find themselves standing up and marching towards the man in a perfect, straight line.

Immediately, a wave of panic passes over Izuku due to the lack of control his mind seems to have over his body. He timidly tries to lift his hand to ask about the stifling pressure forcing him into the line, but it seems as though Kacchan is already five steps ahead of him.

"Oi, old man!" Kacchan shouts, body shaking with fury despite his sharp, rigid posture remaining in line. "The _hell_ is this?"

The older man waves him off with a lazy hand, opting to look at the clipboard clumsily wedged between two fingers. "Quirk," he says as if it explains anything and everything that is going on.

Other students begin to chatter at this, glancing warily between the resident hothead and the newcomer. A sort of anxious silence overwhelms the room, and Izuku feels as though he can barely breathe through the fog-like tension.

"Alright, this is how it's gonna work," the man says with a slow, low tone. His eyes sweep over the room, left hand ticking off students as he mouths out numbers in an offhand, nearly inaudible way. Satisfied with the count, he continues to lecture, "Alphabetical order… except you, blonde kid. You go last because I say so. What's your name?"

"Bakugo Katsuki," Kacchan strangles out, face looking torn between pure frustration and lamentation.

"Ah, sucks for you then," the bald man half-smirks. He taps the list knowingly, "You would have been first."

Izuku's eyes roll over to Kacchan's figure, and he can nearly see the murderous intent radiating off of his childhood friend.

"I've been sent as a peacekeeper for the purposes of this session. Please refer to me as Kitsui-san for the time being." Kitsui-san raises his finger and waggles it around sternly, "Take note, I am _not_ the person who will set up the meeting with a future self. I'm simply here to keep you rascals in order while the poor _lady_ on the other side of the hallway deals with each of you individually. Check-in with me, siddown, and shuddap after you do that. Got it?"

The occupants of the room murmur in agreement, despite the rather disappointed tone that accompanies the sound.

Kitsui-san slowly nods, sated. He grumbles snarkily, "Good. Bakugo-_san_, you're already checked in. Take a seat and _try_ not to cause any disruption, for your own and _my_ own sake."

Kacchan, released from Kitsui-san's Quirk-induced hold, scrapes his shoes towards the front of the class, opting to take the first seat in the first row with an uncharacteristically quiet acceptance.

Gradually, Izuku's attention shifts off of his childhood friend as the line moves forward in tandem with Kitsui-san's name calls. His feet shuffle forward in perfect sync with his classmates, and he can only wonder how such a Quirk works.

Was it an emitter quirk, where anyone within sight could be physically controlled? Or was there a sort of time-based element to it? Did it have a limit on how many people could be controlled at once? Could it affect animals too–

"Alright, Horikoshi. You're checked in now, so move on over," Kitsui-san remarks, visibly bored. His eyes shift to Izuku and then down to the list crooked between his hand and belly.

"Midoriya Izuku," the older man drawls, eyebrow raised. "Quirkless, huh? Gotta find clarity somewhere, kid. Good on you. You're checked in, so take a seat and–"

"How does your Quirk work?" Izuku blurts, eyes wide at his own outburst. He tries and fails to cover his mouth in embarrassment due to Kitsui-san's hold on him. Instead, his blunder stays out in the open, for all of his classmates to snicker at. He, at least, has the power to blush at the newfound attention.

"Oh! We got ourselves a nerd here!" Kitsui-san hollers, almost… jokingly? Though, Izuku has no way of truly knowing because he has borne the brunt of many "jokes" like this in the past. To the class, however, it seems to hit like the nasty type.

A wave of mocking laughter reverberates around the class before being abruptly stopped by Kitsui-san. As jaws forcibly clamp up into their owners' mouths, Kitsui-san shakes a sole finger at the class, chidingly.

"None of you clowns know what I mean," the older man shakes his head bitterly. Kitsui-san chuckles to himself a little bit and explains, "What's funny is that ya rarely ever see nerds come out of _hiding_! They act like recluses, some of 'em… yeah..."

Appearing to sense that his joke didn't hit, his arms cross and his face sets in a stern manner once more.

"Nerds make the world what it is, so you bunch better try your damned hardest to be one or else you'll be caught in _this guy's_ dust."

Izuku swears he can hear a scoff come from the front of the room, suspiciously close to where Kacchan was seated, but Kitsui-san is already one step of him.

The audible sound of teeth clicking shut reverberates through the classroom, followed closely by a grunt of pain.

"Don't provoke me, blonde kid. I won't hesitate to kick you out if you pull another stunt."

Kitsui-san turns back to Izuku, and he can see a mix of both mischievousness and curiosity piqued in the older man's eyes.

"You look like a smart kid," Kitsui-san started enigmatically, causing Izuku's eyebrows to raise. He continues, fingers shaped like a gun against his chin, "Just one hint: it's in the _eyes_."

Before Izuku can speak again, his body is redirected to the seat he had originally picked out before attendance and is half-clumsily slumped back into the chair.

_Faces, huh_? He entertains the idea of devoting time towards figuring out the proctor's Quirk, but he ultimately decides against it once his newly freed body recognizes the sensation of damp, almost soaking (_again, ew_), paper in his hand. All at once, the anxiety of meeting himself, possibly _hours_ from now, slams him back into reality.

He had been called after a modest amount of students had stepped up for attendance, so he knows that he has a more or less decent wait time ahead of him. At least an hour, he figures. Though, this provides little relief in the face of the daunting task ahead.

He can only hope that his future self is as approachable as he is now, or else he's in for something alright…

Izuku half-heartedly shoves a fist in front of his face, pasting his lips to the curve of his fingers, and leaning on it to stop his insecurities from pouring out for his peers to mock him. Normally, he has no qualms with airing out his thoughts; however, today is quite different. For something so personal, he can't bear the idea of having others bully him, _attack him_, for doubting himself, just once.

With this, he wonders: _Who am I?_

_A hero?_ The thought comes so easily to him, yet he can't find the courage or confidence in himself to say _yes_. Just _maybe_. Maybe. Oh god please, _maybe_.

His fingers intertwine, jittering, as the thought strikes him and he finds himself staring deeply into the desk as the sentiment of hope, so fleeting, wells up once more. He takes a deep breath, opting to stop that hope right where it stood.

Too much hope is never good. He's learned that the hard way. _Be more reasonable_, he chides himself.

At the very least, Izuku has confidence that he has at least made a nice career for himself. Something comfortable, even respectable for a Quirkless person.

(The alluring thought of heroism echoes within his mind, but he shushes it once more.)

Izuku is a smart person; he knows that much. In ten years, he ought to be in university if his brains can drag him far enough. Maybe he's one of the few Quirkless people to escape that stigma and make a name for himself. It feels more in reach, more practical than his true dream.

_And that's where it ends_, Izuku sighs.

Reality doesn't always reflect one's dreams, does it? Yet despite that, he still yearns for the unspeakable glory and honor of being a hero, to just say _I'm here_ and have people feel safe at his entry.

Isn't being a hero an impossible thing? It's a _dream_, and that's where it starts and ends for Izuku. Sure, some have the chance to become heroes. He is willing to bet that Kacchan would become one himself, even if he is motivated by an egotistical desire to be _the best_.

But Izuku? It's best that he just put that dream to rest, finally.

Yet…

His train of thought drifts off as he gets caught in the web of nostalgia and longing until–

"Midoriya!" Kitsui-san barks, snapping Izuku out of his daze. Kitsui-san smirks a little, clearly having fun roughing up the class. "Take your stuff and shove it across the hall, Horikoshi should be done in a minute."

_Had it… had it been that long!?_

What seemed like a few minutes turns out to have been over _an hour_ in waiting, allowing about two other students to have their sessions and leave, and, it seems, another to be wrapping up his own thirty-minute session.

Izuku becomes suddenly _very aware_ of the relatively small group size now, scrambling to pick up his things and bustle out the door to meet the representative on time.

He feels eyes on him as he moves through the classroom, and he can barely hear the words "_janitor"_ and _"garbage man"_ bounce back and forth in hushed voices.

_This is for you, not them_, he reminds himself. Steadfast, Izuku ignores them and continues without breaking his stride.

On his way out the door, Kitsui-san slaps him on the back and tells him to "break a leg!" (whether Izuku can find that encouraging or not, he doesn't know).

The door slams shut behind him, cordoning him off from the world of self-esteem-related torture that has been plaguing him for the entire morning. With a scant breath of relief, he shuffles himself towards the opposite side of the hall.

He listens to his footsteps as the door across the hall becomes more daunting; the glass window that peers into the classroom is now covered, almost haphazardly, with paper and tape, giving away no secrets to the Quirkless boy.

Clutching his list like a lifeline, he finally hits the opposing wall. Deciding to get comfy, Izuku faces his back towards the wall and slides down it, hugging his legs against himself while crouched on the floor, unsure what to do next. One of his peers would be out the door in mere minutes and it would be _his turn_.

His heart pounds in his chest at the thought, and he can barely find an anchor in his backpack gluing him to the floor with its weight. The paper in his hands is squeezed tighter and, inevitably, is soggy yet again. His nervous behavior leaves nothing to be desired with its predictability.

He swallows, as if that would pull his heart from his throat back into his chest where it belongs, and unabashedly shivers in anticipation. This flurry of emotions is taking him all over the place, and he isn't quite sure whether he'll be able to calm himself down by the time of the meeting.

His fingers interlock and unwind themselves repeatedly, his mind going into a mantra of "anti-panic" reassurances as the seconds seem to tick by slower and slower.

_BANG!_

The door next to him shoots open and his classmate, Horikoshi-san, bursts out in a fit of glee. With a little dance of what Izuku can only presume is happiness, Horikoshi dreamily bleats "_MANGAKA, WOO!"_ and barrels down the hall like a madman.

Eyes wide and suddenly adrenaline-filled at the quick sequence of events, Izuku darts up from his sitting position and finds himself face to face with a stern-faced, stout old woman in a comically _tiny_ suit jacket.

She taps her clipboard knowingly, brown eyes darting to meet his, "Midoriya Izuku. Come on in."

She beckons him in with a wave of the hand and doesn't even look behind to make sure he follows. Dazed, he pursues her and shuts the door behind him automatically.

The room is a cleared out classroom, only with three chairs, a backpack on the floor, and a table. It is, by every definition, barren.

Without a moment to rest, she begins to speak, "Sit down. I need some information to work with so that I don't pull the wrong person in. I have your name, and I'll need your hair."

"I'm sorry– just… _WHAT?_" Izuku screeches, his brain comprehending the sentence after a few paltry seconds.

"You heard me right. Hair, give me it. Now," the old woman says to him in a monotone voice, one hand gestured out to receive the item in question.

Whether out of obeisance or simple bewilderment, Izuku silently plucks a hair from his scalp and hands it to the lady. She grabs it from him in a pinching motion and twirls it around a bit, inspecting it from a distance.

Then she eats it.

Izuku startles, scooting back in his seat in raw disgust as the woman swallows it nonchalantly. She makes eye contact with him for a brief second, appearing to note his discomfort, and elects to calm him down.

"I do this all the time, kid," she tries, scribbling a bit on her clipboard. Her eyes are focused like a laser beam on the paper, "You can and do get used to doing this kind of stuff after a while. Especially if that's how your Quirk works."

"Um," Izuku mutters, more than eager to change the subject. At the mention of Quirks, an obvious topic comes to mind. "Speaking of Quirks… how _does_ yours work? It's fascinating that you can just pull someone back–"

"Don't care to explain and doesn't matter," she interrupts matter-of-factly. She taps the clipboard twice, glaring at him for a short second, "Can't give away my company secrets, can I?"

He blinks, stunned, and the woman simply sighs at his bafflement.

"I'll give you credit, kid," she uncrosses her legs on her chair, leaning forward. "You're the only one so far who's given enough of a damn to ask, but I can't let anything leak about my business. I'm helping kids see their future, yes? That's noble. What if a villain comes over to me and demands I show them how successful their 'careers' will be? _That's_ when it gets dangerous. You understand, right?"

The pen raps against the clipboard and the woman's tired eyes look into his, searching for some acknowledgment. Izuku didn't quite see the harm in asking, but he tried his best to refrain from looking disappointed at the rejection.

Apparently, she finds his expression satisfactory.

"I think I can do this now," she mutters, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a pair of headphones. She clicks a little switch on the side of them and opts to sling it around her neck. She points at them with a smile, "Silencing headphones. If I had to hear the backstory of every person I've brought back, I think I'd go insane. You can keep your secrets to yourself, don't want none of it."

"I guess that's fair enough," Izuku mutters, hands cupping his cheeks as if to contain his anticipation.

"Yeesh, I can tell you're one of those kids that gets overly excited about this," she chuckles. She scratches the back of her head, joking, "Bet you made a list and everything."

Izuku tries his best to squish the drenched list deeper into his palm, his cheeks reddening.

"Close your eyes, I can't work with someone staring at me," she gestures for him to look away, and Izuku complies with a sense of gaiety.

As he waits, he hears a few mutters that are barely beyond his perception and, finally, a snap.

"Ah, can I open my eyes yet? It sounded like you're–"

"Oh," he hears a male voice, much deeper than his. Izuku can feel his skin prickle, and he snaps his eyes open upon its sound. "_Oh._"

As his eyelids peel open, the empty chair across him is suddenly _very not empty_.

Izuku is met with a face identical to his, down to the last freckle. His other self is dressed in a suit jacket and tie, looking awfully distinguished despite Izuku's current informal wear.

The older Izuku's face is twisted into a puzzled expression, and his fingers (Izuku can't help but notice the _endless_ amount of scars littering his skin) are latched onto a briefcase at his side. The item in question has a metallic sheen to it, piquing the younger man's curiosity.

"That–that was today, wasn't it?" the older Izuku mutters, fist brought up to his mouth in thought. The younger Izuku was slightly baffled at the novelty of seeing his own mannerisms in person, unable to keep from ogling at his future form.

"Alright, kids," the older woman speaks up, eyeing the two with amusement. It seems like the novelty doesn't wear out, even for her.

"Play nice," she chants, sliding on her headphones and closing her eyes with crossed legs.

_Oh boy_.

* * *

**Woopsie, a cliffhanger. Now, who would do that? Me. I originally planned for this and the next chapter to be one whole chapter, but I felt like it flowed better as two. Expect one more chapter and an epilogue.**

**I have a Tumblr for updates. It's on my profile page.**


	6. Chapter 6: I art Thou, Thou art I

**Hoo boy, now here's a doozy! I have been working on this child for the last two months with diligent planning and extensive rewrites. Please enjoy the fruit of my labor; I tried my best to make this interaction fulfilling and complex.**

**No significant warnings for this chapter. Again, this story has T-rated material.**

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There is a beat of awkwardness as the pair gawk at each other, in complete and total silence.

Izuku slowly pans his vision towards the supervisor, somewhat shocked and in need of a push, if anything. As he squeezes the paper in his hand, he very quickly realizes that this is _not_ going according to plan. Not in the slightest.

She keeps on ignoring him, lazily scrolling through her phone with those headphones wrapped tight around her head. She leans further back into her chair, deaf to his pleas for aid.

The room suddenly feels much smaller, as if he and his older self are jammed into a closet together rather than a decently sized classroom with an admittedly sparse interior. His eyes claw for some sort of hold he can latch onto (anything, just _anything_ to keep from looking himself in the eye), but the sheer intensity of his older self's presence vanishes any planning or cleverness he had mustered up in the minutes before.

It is at this point that Izuku's older self reads the air and says a single word:

"Deku."

It isn't delivered with much force, not like Kacchan would say the name, but Izuku can't help but flinch at it. That name strikes like a blight against his optimism, shattering the façade he's wearing in one clean blow. His older self blinks, wide-eyed, and scrambles with his hands for a single moment–

"No, no!" the man cries, slightly anguished. His older self's suit jacket wrinkles as he recoils and drops the metal suitcase to the ground with a deafening, resounding _clunk_, and he mutters to himself, "I mean– that's… hmm."

The older Izuku is now fist against his face, still doe-eyed and zeroed in on Izuku with a contemplating and very _Izuku-ish_ air of scrutiny to him.

"We're thirteen now, right?" the older Izuku asks, voice slightly dulled by the fist still plastered to his mouth. He's slowly hunching over, almost into a fetal position, in his chair. He has one hand on his knee to keep him from keeling over in his arched position and the other glued to his face. It is, strangely enough, a source of comfort to Izuku to know that his older self is as disgruntled and out of place as he is feeling.

"_Fourteen_," Izuku clarifies, a little bit too winded to feel offended by having to correct himself. Again, his eyes dip down to the ground and he finds his hands sweaty. He gives them a cursory rub together and finds his palms glide easily against each other after the drenching his sweat had given them. _Ew._

He suddenly feels the urge to wash his hands.

The older Izuku nods, temporarily sated. He finally leans back from his bent shape and tips the chair back onto its two back legs with a deep exhalation. Eyes closed and hands wrapped together in his lap, the older Izuku manages to look completely put-together within a single moment.

"Alright, bad start," his older self breathes out, tone steady and somewhat reassuring in the wake of that disaster of a greeting. He levels his chair back onto its four legs and embellishes his words with a finger raised into the air, "Call me Deku, okay?"

"W–What?!" Izuku blurts, incredulous at his older self's sudden insistence on using that name. That name is a _curse_, it follows Izuku around just like his Quirklessness does. It was and _still is_ an inevitable part of his miserable school experience, accompanied by the ceaseless harassment he gets from his peers. So why would _anyone_ want to be called Deku!?

"Well, that's a pretty fair question to start with," the older Izuku– _Deku_ responds, wearing an amused smile. It's strange, Izuku thinks, how his older self treats the question with fondness rather than distaste– as if he's about to speak of a treasured memory rather than dispel a haunting memory of himself.

"I… I said that out loud, didn't I?" Izuku asks, ready to stick his foot in his mouth and be done with the affair right then and there. He instead gives his knees a squeeze and looks resolutely at the ground.

"Absolutely," Deku chuckles, taking the question in stride and giving Izuku a genuinely cheerful smile. He shifts himself back into his chair and crosses one leg over the other, settling in for the long conversation. Izuku musters the gusto to look up again without shame, and he blinks in surprise at the kindness in his mirrored face.

Upon second viewing, Deku is much more… _weathered_ than Izuku is. For starters, the scars littering his arms and the edges of his neck and face are not a figment of his rather panicked imagination. No, they're _real_. Each indentation in his counterpart's skin tells a story that Izuku can't help but feel innately curious about, even if it's a sort of morbid interest. To add to that, his future self's charisma (albeit still lacking) is leaps and bounds ahead of Izuku's own, given his ability to roll with the punches and move with Izuku's shameful, downright _dreadful_ conversational skills.

Now _there's_ some closure: knowing he won't be permanently unable to communicate with people.

"So, 'Deku'… I'm sure that your memories of that name so far aren't the greatest," Deku says softly and sympathetically. Deku straightens up, gesturing to himself with his hands spread out like a fan, "But– well, someone told me once that 'Deku' doesn't have to mean _worthless_. It can be _you can do it_. The name is only as bad as you make it out to be, Izuku."

Izuku tries to believe that, given the earnest expression his older self is wearing in regards to that awful name, but he can't find it in himself to do so. There's just… too much _baggage_ involved. Kacchan has already tormented him with that name for years, so how can he just up and oust those bad memories associated with the word "Deku?" It seems like an impossible task, like trying to get Kacchan to calm down during one of his fits or his classmates to stop heckling him for his Quirklessness or sky-high ambitions.

"Alright," Izuku finally breathes out, deciding to let go of that argument for the time being. Izuku doesn't have to like Deku's choices, he just has to try his best to understand them. Connecting the dots between his present and future is the main goal at hand, he mustn't forget that; at the end of the day, he's still the one walking the path to that reality that Deku is from. "H–How's Mom, by the way?"

Deku blinks; Izuku imagines he's in whiplash at the sudden change in topic, but he rolls with it and shoots an answer back at Izuku as quick as Ingenium.

"She's doing fine, I just talked to her this– well, I guess not '_this'_ this morning, but my morning in the future– you know what I mean, right?" his older self mumbles a bit, but Izuku feels as though there's a certain charm to his stuttering and muttering when he manages to speak full sentences. _Actual_ full sentences. Another thing Deku has on Izuku: being able to speak to people other than himself for long periods of time (past a _sentence_, that's an accomplishment!).

"Yeah, I get what you mean," Izuku lets out a breathy laugh, relaxing into the back of his chair. _Alright_, this is getting marginally less awkward.

"She's getting better, at the whole encouragement and support thing– I mean," Deku smiles, reverently, at the thought of their mother. Deku continues, eyes now closed and face relaxed into a fond expression, "I feel like that's always been a family thing, being bad at talking to people and all. We've been helping each other get better at it, especially since it's a necessity for my field and all…"

Deku drifts off, bringing back that awkward, stifling air once more. He puts on a grimace, appearing very self-punitive, and raises a patient hand at Izuku before he can open his mouth to ask _what_ his field is.

"We're not gonna talk about that yet," Deku says quickly, waving his raised hand flippantly, "I don't think it'd be best to talk about that until– until you've gotten comfortable with all this–"

Deku waves his hands around, in circles, gesturing at the room itself. Right, _right_. This is an unorthodox situation, and both of them are acting awkward as hell right now.

It's not the time to talk about hopes and dreams yet. _Yet_.

"Alright, it's okay," Izuku puts an end to Deku's concerns and decides to move on. He can be like himself, pushing past that awkwardness. _No sweat_. Though, it seems like his hands haven't gotten the memo about 'no sweating' quite yet.

Then it's silence again. M–maybe it's his turn to break it this time…

"So, umm," Izuku frantically attempts to break that stupid silence that seems to keep returning after either one of them finishes a sentence. He picks the first topic that comes to mind, "What were you doing before you came here and all?"

"Oh!" Deku responds, finally taking stock his incredibly formal appearance and metal suitcase next to him. He picks up the suitcase from the ground and plunks it back into the lap, safe and sound, "I was going to a trial. Not exactly jury duty, but I had a testimony to give and all… it was _big_– a very big, important trial, actually. You'll know when you're there."

"Are you a… lawyer?" Izuku questions, swifter than his brain can process. His mind at least has the humility to slap a palm to his lips, ending that train of thought entirely. "Right, no career-related stuff yet. J–Just _ignore_ what I just said, okay?"

Deku simply chortles at that, but decidedly not at Izuku's expense. The laughter is more akin to a friendly jab rather than the stuff Izuku gets fed at school. It's a lot… _funnier_ when laughing at his expense isn't accompanied by pure verbal vitriol. He almost wants to chuckle along with his older self, given the lack of impactful, mean-spirited teasing.

"We're a wreck, aren't we?" the older Izuku asks, hand to his stomach with his burst of giggling subsiding. He leans back into his chair, still sniggering, and holds the suitcase closer to him, as if out of habit.

"Yeah… I–I guess you could say that about us," Izuku admits, an amused smile on his face. He fiddles around with his fingers in his lap, picking at his nails while absorbing the presence of his older self. He's gotten more _mellow_ over time; Deku seems more tired than anything at the moment if his deep eye bags have anything to say about it. He clears his throat and tries to take the conversation back by the reins, "Umm, how about K–Kacchan? I'm sure he's doing hero work, no doubt about that…"

His words get smaller as he ends the sentence prematurely, eventually moving to mutter his thoughts noiselessly to himself. Deku is quick to swoop up the conversation, as if on cue.

"He's doing well alright. I don't think either of us has ever had any doubts about what he'd be doing by now. He's number two at the moment, but, erm, you didn't hear that from me. I think he'd go ballistic if he knew I said that," Deku ends off rather quietly, putting a finger to his mouth in thought. He leans back and looks a little fond despite the topic, "We're more… _friends_ than we were in junior high, that's for sure. That's something to look forward to, yeah?"

Izuku isn't necessarily sure that the knowledge that he and Kacchan could become _friends_ is reassuring, but he appreciates the effort that Deku makes to try and convince him– if it even _is_ an attempt to be convincing. His older self has very few tells, other than the very obvious _"I'm feeling awkward"_ ones.

"No, no– I'm _serious!"_ Deku cries, waving his hands around again in that same horrified tone. _Oops_. He had also said that out loud, hadn't he? "We kind of went our own ways for a while, with me following my own goals and him going for the top hero spots, but we kind of just… _resonated_ after a while. I–I don't really know the best way to describe our relationship."

"Well, what did you 'resonate' on, then?" Izuku questions, somewhat accusatory perhaps even a smidge bit vicious. It isn't without reason, however. He hasn't had the best of experiences with Kacchan lately, and he can't envision that changing for a long time. It would take an entire _miracle_ to get Kacchan to adjust his worldview; while Izuku is a patient and optimistic soul, even _he_ knows where to draw the line at dreaming.

"I– hmm. I'm not gonna escape talking about my career with you, am I?" Deku asks, his eyes half shut and grimacing in an attempt at being standoffish that, to Izuku's amusement, is completely ineffective.

"Haha, nope," Izuku pops back cheekily, gaining a bit of confidence at his older self's helplessness in the face of his question. Though, he has to remember that Deku's inability to be socially aware is _Izuku's_ inability as well.

Deku appears hesitant for a moment as if he's about to try and pet a rabid dog that's foaming at the mouth. It's evident by his bit lip and rather dodgy pupils, shifting _left–right–left,_ that Deku would rather the topic be left untouched altogether. He lets out a huff and lets his eyes linger over the suitcase in his lap and, to Izuku's astonishment, he clicks open the suitcase's two bolts and jerks it open, revealing–

A costume.

_No way_.

Izuku had told himself before not to expect anything flashy. Being a hero is out of his league; it always has been. He's come to terms with that, and now he's being confronted with a reality that he's all but tossed out the window.

_But– how?_

"I'm not gonna lie to you and say it was easy," Deku says in response to Izuku's gaping expression. He proceeds smoothly, sealing the case with a click and putting his proverbial skeletons back in his closet, "It was hell, getting to be a hero. At first, it was manageable, dealing with Kacchan, training, and getting less jumpy around people, but it–_the pressure_ just… escalated over time. Examinations and expectations I couldn't fulfill, _villains–"_

The word is said with a sneer, and Izuku witnesses an expression of pure, vehement resentment flash across his own mirrored face. It's a peculiar feeling, seeing something he's never found in himself. He can't help but feel as though he's viewing himself from a distance, close enough to hear but so far removed that he can't connect with Deku nor fully understand him. It's like… speaking to someone through a _wall_.

He supposes that's alright, only if because he knows he _will_ understand, someday, if he is to follow in his own self's footsteps.

"–Everything. It was an upward battle from the start, but you'll get there, Izuku. You just have to–"

"Believe?" Izuku finishes for his future self near silently, growing rather bitter and cynical with the thought of that single word. Something about the ability to just _will_ oneself to victory seems far removed from reality, an _impossibility_. He looks down onto the ground, trying to flicker away some tears in his eyes by blinking (_stupid_, becoming emotional right here, right _now_) and trudges forward despite his wobbly voice, "That seems like something I've been telling myself my entire _life_."

He lets out an unpleasantly wet-sounding sniff, swiping at his nose with a shaky and uncoordinated arm, and resumes.

"But you know, I'd decided that I was _fine_ with being Quirkless. I thought about this meeting for the last week, and I finally said to myself today that _it's okay_ to let go of that dream. It wasn't practical, and I was finally beginning to get that," Izuku chokes out a sob, half-heartedly letting those rampant tears finally run their course down his face. His voice is strained now, but he's adamant about going on, "And here you are, when I thought you would just swoop into my life to tell me about my probably inconsequential and boring future, a-and suddenly I'm a _hero!_ It's like this false hope just can't leave me _alone_."

The words leave his mouth in a hurry, and the room rests in silence for a couple of moments as Izuku all but collapses in on himself. Only the barely audible music from the supervisor's headphones fill that gaping void, but it's a tinny and minute distraction in the wake of his nuclear explosion. Deku's eyebrows are hiked up (decidedly not out of surprise, since he had once experienced what Izuku is now experiencing), and Izuku shrinks at the newfound inspection, letting his arms retreat into his sweatshirt.

"I don't think it's an issue about whether or not you can be a hero, Izuku. I'm living proof of that," Deku gestures to himself with a calm, patient tone that Izuku could almost find reprimanding if he weren't bawling his eyes out. He changes his tune, shifting to a topic seemingly far-flung from the speak of heroes and hope, "There is one thing I remember hearing, from _this_ meeting and from after I left junior high: _how do you keep going?_"

Izuku blinks, somewhat dazed. The river of tears is still going, _damn_ his genetic inclination to go all out when weeping, but he sobers up at the mention of his previous persistence on becoming a hero. With a sniffle, he steadies himself with his hands on his knees and looks himself in the eye, enraptured.

Deku points his finger at Izuku, and he jabs it in his direction forcefully but not reproachingly. Encouragingly, Izuku decides as he eyes the digit.

"When I was your age, I was at the end of my rope; I was beginning to lose hope, and it wasn't pretty, Izuku," Deku tells him, disposition much bolder now that Izuku's fire had come and gone, "I was holding onto that dream, a–almost _obsessively,_ but that's what made the dream _work_. The fact that we're stubborn– that we're _determined_ is what made us a hero. Putting yourself down isn't gonna get you anywhere, Izuku."

"B–but–"

_I've already accepted I can't be a hero._

_Everyone has already told me I can't._

_I've been beaten down enough_.

_Even __**Mom**__ can't tell me I can be a hero._

"How?" Izuku finally chokes out, eager to rid his mind of those negative thoughts. There's still such a disconnect between now and _then_ that Izuku can barely envision the path ahead. That glimmer of hope is tearing back into his atmosphere, and he is desperate to snatch it and hide it away, if only for his own relief. Selfish? _Somewhat_, but the taste of validation is luscious and addictive; however, the reality of logic and pragmatism, the wrecking ball that it is, must come swinging back to him.

"Stop being scared of other people, Izuku. They only want to put you down, to see the Quirkless boy in the back of the class be _put in his place._ Don't give them that," Deku all but spits, caught up in a growing tornado of fury. Izuku knows better than to feel scared or intimidated because he knows it's a wave of righteous anger, for his sake.

Benevolent… _anger_? That's something he's never known, not with Kacchan. Kacchan is only ever crude and prideful, the type of manipulator that gets irritated and callous to keep others down on the ground.

Deku is to Izuku like a refreshing glass of water is to a man in a desert.

Refreshing. New. _Promising._

He bends forward in his seat, eager to hear more. He's been hungering for these words his whole life, something to chuck into his mind's furnace to keep him chugging forward. The encouragement hits like a spat of gasoline onto a fire.

"And when I mean _stop being scared_," Deku is quick to continue, almost hasty in his words but ever so confident in his delivery, "I mean you have to find people who _care_. The world isn't your enemy, Izuku. Once you stumble into the right people, you'll make the friends you want and _need_. Not only can they support you, but they can make you want to be better, to want to _learn_ and _grow_."

"What else?" Izuku prods, starry-eyed and indulgent in the advice he's being fed. Despite his lack of a note and pen, Izuku is drinking in the information like he does watching hero fights on the sidelines. He's tempted to run home at the nearest opportunity and word vomit all he can remember onto a sheet of paper. The guidance, albeit a bit cheesy, is still quite genuine and untainted by preconceptions of a Quirkless person's ability, but– well, that raises a good question…

_How does a Quirkless person become a hero?_

That seems like the _number one_ question. Though, a stewing feeling in Izuku's stomach suggests that the leap from his Quirkless present self to his hero future self may very well be a non-sequitur in and of itself.

'A-actually," Izuku interrupts Deku before he can answer his earlier question, vying to satisfy his curiosity instead. He's a bit timid in asking (after all, it doesn't make sense!), but he shoots for the goal, "How can we be heroes without a Quirk?"

Izuku shrinks back into his hoodie like a turtle, lying in wait for the answer. It feels as though Izuku's entire world is hinged upon Deku's response, and he feels that sliver of nervousness as it makes its way back to him.

"I–" Deku starts, very obviously reluctant to answer the question. His older self's shoulders are hunched in and he has a finger in the air, essentially sounding out his insecurity in the face of Izuku's innocent question. Deku hesitates for a moment, almost as if he's choking on a _lie_, and answers the question honestly, "I can't tell you…"

Izuku blinks for a second as if to process the words he had just been fed.

Life-changing information, possibly something that could catapult him into his dream job, and he says–

_I_

_can't_

_tell_

_you_.

On the precipice of a meltdown, Izuku silently fumes to himself, not angry just _disappointed_, and waits for Deku to justify himself before Izuku can manage to lose it. A Kacchan-level tantrum will _not_ win him any favors.

"I–Just… It'd a lot to take in, and I feel like I'd be ruining your future by telling you how it happens," Deku continues, still quite tentative and walking around eggshells. "Life's best lived for the first time, and I don't want to spoil it for you. _Sure_, you know the outcome, but the path to it should still be yours to carve out."

Deku spaces out after the words leave his mouth, and Izuku is left to consider the implications of them.

_Mine to carve out_…

There's still that bubbling frustration present at the thought of the _unknown_, lurking in the dark recesses of his future, but the inkling of curiosity and wonder that Deku had sparked with the suggestion slowly takes its hold on Izuku.

"I'll give you a good suggestion, Izuku. A few, actually," Deku finally resumes his speech, eyes somewhat distant and voice a little rickety despite his relaxed presence. Deku raises a finger:

"Talk to Mom more, she's trying to connect with you, she just doesn't know how yet."

Izuku raises an eyebrow, unable to follow Deku's line of thought.

"But she's never wanted to talk to me about–"

"No, she does want to talk about your problems, it's just that she's bad at telling you that and you're bad at listening," Deku shoots back easily, waggling his raised finger at Izuku in a lighthearted, chastising way, "We're just… we're _really bad_ at taking hints sometimes, but it'll get better with practice."

Izuku nods sagely, filing away that note for the future.

_Talk to Mom more_.

There's a notion of disappointment at the thought that he doesn't really know his mother nor does he confide in her often, but there's always room for second chances.

It's never too late to try and build that bridge, even if she can't fully support his dreams and tell him that _he can_–well, at the end of the day, he knows that she works in his best interest, even if they don't see eye to eye on what is best for him.

"Number two," Deku raises a second finger, leaning forward to stare Izuku in the eye, "Figure out who's worth your time. I can't say that Kacchan's a lost cause because I care for him a lot now, even if he's a bit… _rough_ around the edges. Regardless, be yourself and see who treats you right. They'll be the kind of people you'll want in your life."

Izuku nods, agreeing with his future self. It makes sense. It's just…

It's just that it's _a lot_ harder to put into practice when it comes down to doing the deed. Izuku has always been desperate for friends, and he's settled more times than he cares to admit. Kacchan's gang wasn't kind to him as when he had become the "Quirkless boy" of the school and yet he still considers them friendly (_as if_) acquaintances today.

But that's fine.

Alright.

Okay.

_Great_.

Izuku gulps down a breath and accepts the criticism, fully realizing that he'll have to put it into practice once he gets the chance. No more pushover Izuku, he should _care_ more. Deku's right and Izuku's a fool for having come so far without cutting these people out of his life.

Izuku nods for Deku to continue, aware of his future self's prying eyes and inquisitive (albeit unintentionally intense) glare.

"Lastly," Deku sticks up a third finger and waves it up and down, "You gotta believe in yourself."

Deku pushes out of his chair, stumbling forward a slight bit with a raised hand and a determined glint in his eyes. He continues to point at Izuku, and the supervisor watches with squinted eyes behind her wall of apathy and newsprint. Deku ignores her and walks closer, bending down nearly face to face with Izuku.

On his haunches, Deku jabs Izuku in the chest and looks him in the eye–

"You've been looking for validation, and that's _fine_, Izuku. Everyone needs it. But you?"

Deku lets out a bitter chuckle and worms that finger deeper into his chest, poking uncomfortably into his sternum and leaving him antsy and confused.

"You need to take a look in the mirror and ask yourself if _you_ even believe you can be a hero," Deku mutters, eyes darting down to the floor with a pensive hum. He stands back up and puts his hands on his hips, taking a couple of steps back for Izuku's sake. "It doesn't matter if you tell yourself every day that you can get to the top, you can compete with the best. You can talk yourself into a hole with that kind of thinking. You need to ask yourself if you can take that first step to be a hero and run with it– _and never stop running_."

Silence.

"I won't push further," Deku finally declares, emblazoned once more with his previous statement, "So let's talk about mundane stuff– _erm_, normal, if you will?"

The sentence ends with a high, awkward lilt, and that's when Izuku is reminded he's dealing with himself. As they move onto otherwise boring topics, not straying far from the list Izuku had had in the first place, Izuku's mind keeps drifting onto that advice, savoring it.

Cause there's some little, dark voice in his mind that keeps whispering that he may never hear something like that _again_.

From family to friends to teachers and places, Izuku brightens with each word, hanging onto that glimmer of promise in his future and ignoring the stress of figuring out the path to it. He relishes in the mumblings about his mother; the zaniness of his apparent _friends;_ a strict, by-the-books homeroom teacher by the name of Aizawa; and a couple of other heroes that he isn't familiar with (_yet_, wasn't that exciting?).

Finally, the supervisor clears her throat loudly, even if not visibly annoyed, and Izuku knows that his time is up.

"Well," Izuku starts, grasping the essence of what he wants to say but finding himself completely unable to put it into words. He still tries, optimistic once more, "Thank you. I–I didn't really know if things would work out, and I just… I'm just so happy to have _hope_ again."

Izuku wells up at that thought, but he keeps himself steady and calm. The tears stubbornly crawl down his face, apathetic to his plight, and he swipes away at the stray droplets that threaten to leave his chin.

"_Thank you_," he repeats, in a whisper. His voice is considerably more strained, almost a croak. Yet, he knows that this is enough; he's said what he wanted to say already. The words are plain and simple.

He has a future to look forward to. Friends to make, mentors to help him, people to _save_.

There's a vast array of things ahead of him, and now he finds that he can't wait to finally start his life.

Deku slowly rises out of his seat, taking hold of his hero suitcase and approaches Izuku with a lax attitude that can only be described as friendly and affectionate. In a moment, Izuku is engulfed in a hug that could rival his mother's.

He mostly feels bad for getting tears on Deku's nice suit. _God_, would that stain? _Oh jeez, he's gonna end up with a wet suit in the middle of a court because of me–_

"Alright, calm down, Izuku," Deku eases him, taking a step back and gesturing at his shirt. He pulls at the fabric, giving Izuku a wobbly smile with equally as wet eyes, "Dry as a desert."

As he wipes his face again, arms covered with the vestiges of snot and tears that had previously occupied his face, he echos:

"Dry as a desert."

The two look at each other in amiable silence and they both find that they have nothing more to say. For Deku, it's a practice of patience and restraint, not letting his younger self get ahead of himself and ask too much. For Izuku, he finds himself satisfied with what he's gotten and even more excited to finally take off on his own and pursue his dream.

Both are happy.

"Alright, kid, time's up," the supervisor speaks quietly, her tone cluing in on her reluctance to tear into their moment. She continues softly, getting up to usher Izuku out personally, "Pick up your stuff and head on back to Kitsui-san. Just check in with him and you can go."

Izuku slings his backpack over his shoulder in a hurry and heads to the door behind the supervisor, quick to follow her. As he hangs in the doorway, he gives a final glance to the man behind him, still somewhat in awe of the life ahead of him.

Deku gives him a nod, catching his eyes with that same determined glint he had come in with, and mouths _'You can be a hero.'_ Izuku feels like he might just lose it altogether at that.

Instead, Izuku returns the nod, accompanied by an even bigger smile.

As the door shuts behind him, Izuku feels as though he's been given a new direction in life, a second chance–

He lets out a deep sigh in appreciation, relaxing against the hallway wall.

He's been told something he needed to hear all his life.

Something he couldn't get from his peers, his teachers, _not even his mother_.

**You can be a hero**.

Izuku knows he won't forget this meeting; he'll cherish it to the day he dies.

* * *

**Well, I hope you all enjoyed this. The final chapter will be up this year, although I don't know when I will finish it. As of now, this could be considered the end of the story, but I will include an epilogue. Please get back to me on how I did, I really poured my soul into this one.**

**I have a Tumblr for updates, it's on my profile page.**


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